107тн ѕergeanт jaмeѕ вarneѕ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
yourbestguysgun) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tampered2013-10-11 02:33 pm
yourbestguysgun) wrote in tampered2013-10-11 02:33 pm
Entry tags:
→ don't tread on me for i am your brother,
When: October 11th. Morning.
Rating: PG-13 but have a care for Sergeant Barnes' sailor mouth.
Characters: James Barnes (yourbestguysgun ) & you !
Summary: Working down at the gym, sweating those feelings out.
Log: [ Modern gyms are a pain in the ass. They're bright and bold and leave him feeling like he's been trapped in a cage for days. Every inch is cold metal and flourescent light. Everywhere he looks there are lurid posters and candy bars that are supposed to make you fit and he doesn't get it, never will. But he still comes because even after two years he's a soldier first and still wakes up with the edge of panic and ice in his veins. He keeps fit at any minute now the war could burst through the walls of his soft little happiness. That's something he doesn't forget.
That too bright light eats at the edge of his vision even now as his fists hit the punching bag in succession. His shirt is soaked to his skin and molded around the outline of his dog-tags that he'll never take off anyway. At least there's this, he thinks. He's always liked this, had snuck into gyms as a kid to watch the big and rough guys with too little teeth hit the leather. Had been caught up in the excitement of it all, the dust and the smoke and the smell of sweat that had permeated the walls. He remembers when his dad was still alive and would let Bucky sit up to watch the night's match, remembers telling him that he was going to be a world class boxer one day, would earn so much money they'd never have to worry again. With a mom already six foot under and an ailing sister, medical bills upon bills and his dad's distant expression, Bucky thinks even then he'd been a dumb kid.
Well, he's twenty-six now and still an idiot. And he might not be a world class fighter but he's still something. He steadies the bag and breathes out, wipes the sweat from his brow and tucks the tape on his hands back into place. And he's still got something to fight for and it's not as conventional but it's still his family.
So he starts again. ]
Rating: PG-13 but have a care for Sergeant Barnes' sailor mouth.
Characters: James Barnes (
yourbestguysgun ) & you !Summary: Working down at the gym, sweating those feelings out.
Log: [ Modern gyms are a pain in the ass. They're bright and bold and leave him feeling like he's been trapped in a cage for days. Every inch is cold metal and flourescent light. Everywhere he looks there are lurid posters and candy bars that are supposed to make you fit and he doesn't get it, never will. But he still comes because even after two years he's a soldier first and still wakes up with the edge of panic and ice in his veins. He keeps fit at any minute now the war could burst through the walls of his soft little happiness. That's something he doesn't forget.
That too bright light eats at the edge of his vision even now as his fists hit the punching bag in succession. His shirt is soaked to his skin and molded around the outline of his dog-tags that he'll never take off anyway. At least there's this, he thinks. He's always liked this, had snuck into gyms as a kid to watch the big and rough guys with too little teeth hit the leather. Had been caught up in the excitement of it all, the dust and the smoke and the smell of sweat that had permeated the walls. He remembers when his dad was still alive and would let Bucky sit up to watch the night's match, remembers telling him that he was going to be a world class boxer one day, would earn so much money they'd never have to worry again. With a mom already six foot under and an ailing sister, medical bills upon bills and his dad's distant expression, Bucky thinks even then he'd been a dumb kid.
Well, he's twenty-six now and still an idiot. And he might not be a world class fighter but he's still something. He steadies the bag and breathes out, wipes the sweat from his brow and tucks the tape on his hands back into place. And he's still got something to fight for and it's not as conventional but it's still his family.
So he starts again. ]
no subject
[She exhales, slouching back in the booth as she fiddles with a corner of the menu.]
Not everyone needs to know what I've done.
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You doing okay?
no subject
Sorry. No, you were joking, I didn't... Obviously I've gotten rusty at picking out jokes now. I'm fine, you've already asked.